The evolution of a painting is so surprising sometimes, one could almost be excused for thinking that they are an organism or an intelligence that once created outside the realm of thought, begins to shift and change forms as it understands itself with each new iteration.
In the process of painting, two states emerge. One, as the painter, I am the observer, who is introduced to a new image. It was birthed out of the creative act of painting, and what once was a blank canvas, now projects an idea to the viewer and it is 'alive' if the viewer responds to it.
The other state is as if one is part of the canvas, in a dance of revelation. As I 'see' what the painting wants to be, I find myself facilitating the unveiling of the idea to the best of my abilities. The image that appears, can only be an extension or projection of what I am, my experience, my perspective, my memories, my story. But it is a culmination of all these and so a new conclusion is created. I see something about what exists beneath the conscious mind and I am given an insight into who I am in conversation with this idea.
For example, the work that initially appeared, signified that it was about the driver of this self. Out of the depths of the subconscious, arrived a curious, vulnerable inner child, who touched me and might well be an impetus for the content of the work I create. This painting was titled, The Subterranean Self. A self referential work. A painting about the self as the artist, within the interior of a studio looking at finished paintings, the child situated below the eyeline, hidden yet influential.
But something bothered me about the work. And I began to alter it. And as I painted it, the work began to change dramatically, but the child remained. The work went through so many attempts, hours of work yet not much changes. Then there comes a point when a substantial shift occurs and the breakthrough is there. The painting is freed from the restraints of a belief, that I had not been aware of until then, which had been a source of frustration and disappointment. Probably for years.
I suddenly understood that my work is not there to support me, provide for me, work for me. The expectation that in order to justify being an artist, the paintings must be wanted. To then convolute the wanting of a painting with one self being wanted is a recipe for feelings of loss and betrayal. For in reality, they are objects created in the way I make anything. A conversation, a mark making expression of me in the moment. They are for want of an analogy, like 'children'. I need to care for them, not throw them to the wolves. They do not need to care/provide/protect me. They are not responsible for me.
How did I come to arrive at such a profound realisation. Because the final image, a figure, brush in hand running away from the 'monster' who lives within the dark places that a frightened, abandoned child imagines, who has haunted her being for ever so long, had caused me to have this tunnel vision. Like most people, when we do not turn back to face the 'monster' we make up, we are governed by fear. And fear of abandonment, rejection, ridicule are powerful fears. That I can disentangle myself from this long held belief and be free to paint is more profound than one might imagine.
Whether the painting is good or not, who knows. Whether the paintings would be liked by anyone else, the appointed arbitrators of whether a work has value or not, doesn't matter. It was me, engaging with a deeply held unhelpful inherited belief, that once uncovered, allows something unique, in the form of an artwork, to emerge into reality of matter. What anyone else sees in it, can hopefully lead to another conversation.
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